Of Winter Colds And Good Friends
by happyday girl
Summary: The boys are struck down with the annual winter cold- well, everyone except Athos, who is left to deal with his miserable friends. He resolves to try and make them feel better by introducing them to a very special product he enjoyed as Comte, if he can find it, that is... featuring sniffly Musketeers and caring Athos.


The rain plinked harshly down onto the roof of Athos' living quarters as thunder grumbled overhead; the swordsman sat in his armchair by the fire, watching droplets of water cascade down his window and into his window box full of yellow flowers. He sipped his wine and sat back with a sigh, straightening out the report on his lap, quill poised in his hand to etch out any corrections as he continued to read.

The room was quiet, save for the the sound of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder as the storm continued to batter Paris. Having been on duty for 12 hours the previous day, he, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan had been given the day off, leaving them with not much to do except relaxing, drinking and generally enjoying each other's company.

Well, they would have done, had each of his three friends not been afflicted with varying symptoms of the winter cold that was doing its annual round of the Garrison.

Presently, Aramis was lounging in Athos' second-best armchair, his red eyes and nose a stark contrast against his white face as he sniffled into a glass of ale.

d'Artagnan was sat on the floor by the fire, holding his aching head in his hands as he shivered under a borrowed blanket, and Porthos was stood in Athos' kitchen, stirring a pot of mulled wine over the fire and occasionaly letting out a barrage of sneezes before wetly wiping his nose on his sleeve.

'If you three give me a cold I shall not be happy.' Athos muttered- he was seriously considering putting a cloth over his nose as it was.

'I expect its a given you've been infected too, my friend...' Aramis muttered, his voice slightly pained before he hacked into his hand, emerging from his coughing fit with groan.

Athos looked over at him, his mouth turned down into a grimace. 'You look awful.' he commented, finally putting down his quill and looking at each of his friends.

'We don't beel buch better...' d'Artagnan replied, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes. Athos looked up as Porthos emerged from his kitchen, a tray of steaming mugs in his hands.

'Quick, someone take this off me- I'm gonna sneeze!' he warned- Athos jumped up and took the tray off his friend, angling it away just as Porthos let out a huge, wet sneeze.

'Lovely...' he muttered, before handing out the mulled wine and sitting back down. 'Why don't you all go home? Get some rest?'

'Well, we're all sick, aren't we?'Aramis shrugged, taking a sip of his mulled wine. 'Might as well be sick together!'

'I'm not sick, thank you!' Athos countered with a sigh. 'And I'm running out of wine!' he added, although he didn't really mind; he just wished he could do something to stop his friend from looking so miserable. An idea struck him- getting up he quickly fetched his leather jerkin and hat.

'Oi, where are you going?' Porthos asked as he sat heavily on the chair next to Aramis, steaming mug in hand.

'I won't be long-just try not to sneeze on anything too important, alright?' Athos muttered from his door, before disappearing into the rain, leaving his three friends to shrug at each other and continue sipping their wine and moping.

* * *

It took him a while to find a merchant who even had access to what he wanted- it was a precious commodity, usually available to royalty and the upper classes. Well, he had once been what could be called upper-class, he told himself, so he headed to the part of the city he hoped would stock it.

The merchant had almost laughed in his face when Athos had made his order; the swordsman realised that this was probably because he had his Musketeer hat on.

'I have the money,' he assured the sceptical man, producing a purse full of coins. 'So don't worry about that.'

This quickly shut the merchant up, and soon Athos was on his way back to his quarters, the brown bag secure in his pocket.

He disappeared into his kitchen as soon as he got inside, telling the others not to bother him- he knew for a fact the neither Porthos or d'Artagnan had ever had access to what he had just purchased, and he was quite sure neither did Aramis. It took him a while to remember how to prepare it, and he prayed that he wouldn't burn the expensive paste as he worked from memory on how to make it.

'What is that _wonderful_ smell?' Aramis asked from the door, sniffing deeply before dissolving into a coughing fit.

'Go away! I'll bring it out when it's ready!' Athos scolded, shooing him away.

After a few tense minutes he finally decanted the mixture into four mugs, hoping against hope he had prepared it right; it had been a while since he had seen it being made, and he himself had only prepared it once. Taking a deep breath he picked up the tray and walked into the living area, where three pairs of expectant eyes swivelled round to greet him.

'Try this, lads...' he muttered, placing it on a stool by the fire. 'It might make you feel a bit better.' he added, stepping back as the three men took the mugs and took a couple of cautious sips each.

Each of their eyes lit up as they swallowed the the thick, creamy mixture. 'What is it?' d'Artagnan breathed, a brown, milky moustache on his upper lip.

'Like it?' Athos asked, smiling as his three friends let out contended "mmmms"and sat back, smacking their lips as they continued to drink.

'It's amazing!' Porthos commented, smiling across at Aramis, who had his eyes closed as he savoured his drink.

'It's decadent!' the Medic added. 'So creamy, and that taste...what is it?'

'It's called chocolate.' Athos revealed, taking his own mug and taking a gulp, the taste tingling his taste buds, bringing him back to happy times as Comte.

'Chocolate...' Aramis repeated, before chuckling. 'I wonder if Treville could pay our wages in this instead of money?!'

'I doubt it- it was a small fortune to buy that!' Athos revealed with a snort. Three pairs of eyes looked up at him, their eyes creased as his words sunk in.

'Athos, you didn't have to do that for us!' Porthos berated him.

'I wanted to.' Athos shrugged. 'I can do what I like with my own money, after all...'

'I'm glad you did, my friend!' Aramis chuckled, standing up and putting an arm around Athos- the swordsman wrinkled his nose and deftly stepped out from the embrace. 'Lets leave the hugging until you're all better, alright?' he said, to which Aramis snorted his agreement and stepped away.

'Is that all there is?' d'Artagnan asked, a slightly disappointed tone to his voice as he put his empty mug on the tray and wiped his face.

Athos smiled, happy his idea had made a small impact in the moods of his friends. 'Well, there might be one more serving in the pot in the kitchen...' he muttered, to which the Gascon stood up and took the tray back in to fill the empty mugs up, making the older men chuckle.

Athos sighed happily and sat back down in his armchair by the fire, before picking up his forgotten report and continuing to read it against the backdrop of sneezes, coughs and sniffles from his friends behind him.

 **A/N- Chocolate was introduced to France in 1615, but it wasn't until the 19th century that it became available to the masses, so in the early days it was only for Royalty and the nobility due to its expensive price, and it was primarily taken in liquid form rather than in bars.**

 **Thanks for reading- please review!**

 **X**


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